


Love, Though You Worry

by Diary



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Families of Choice, Friendship/Love, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Romance, Season/Series 02, Self-Reflection, Somewhat Fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: Accidentally posted under Good Omens. Now corrected.Likely to become AU. In which the Jinn is introspective and occasionally irritated by his own introspection, everyone ships him and Salim, and being pedantically introspective is no guarantee there isn't much going on that a not-in love Jinn won't manage to completely miss. Complete.
Relationships: The Jinn | Ifrit/Salim (American Gods)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Love, Though You Worry

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: The Jinn in this has some rather biting, bitter thoughts and feelings about religion and certain gods in this. I didn't write him this way in order to bash any religion. I wrote him this way in order to further explore some things canon introduced in season 2. There's a good chance season 3 will make this fic completely AU, but until it does, I'm not labelling it as such.

He knows how to make Salim leave.

Pretty soon, he’ll need to, and it might be best to do it now, here in this funeral home, on this day Grimnir has given him off than when on some errand.

“I was thinking we might go to the beach today,” Salim tentatively says. “I’ve always wanted to see a wild hermit crab.”

The tentativeness sets his own nerves on edge, but whether he appreciates it or not, Salim is too interesting for a mortal to be.

“Why? Have you always wanted to see a wild hermit crab?”

“My grandmother told me about a pet one her father had given her. He’d gotten it on a business trip. He’d bring back seashells for it after other business trips, and it lived for about ten years. Hearing about how it would discard one seashell for another as it grew, making it it’s own, was interesting. Even before I knew what I was, I had the sense I was different, and I hoped I’d be able to do something similar when I was grown.”

There are mortal men who could do far more than I did, he’s tempted to say. Move onto a different, better life, Salim.

But Salim’s eyes are so open, a little wary but mostly pleased to have shared this, full of softness that must have worried his grandmother when he was a little boy looking up at her with eyes that could hold stars themselves.

“We can go to the beach,” he agrees. “But I don’t know if there will be any wild hermit crabs.”

“I don’t, either, but it’d be fun to look. Do you know if there’s a certain way I should dress for the beach?”

Salim now has a suitcase full of clothes, but he almost always insists on wearing that old, raggedy sweater along with whatever he’s wearing. It makes no sense to him, but apparently, sentiment is strongly attached to that particular garment.

“I won’t go near the water, but if you plan on it, bring clothes to change into for afterwards.”

Getting up from the bed, Salim goes to the suitcase.

He wonders if Salim would strip down to his underwear or buy a simple pair of swimming trunks and wear them. Or would Salim be more conservative and wear a shirt, too, into the water?

“You don’t like the water?”

“My eyes burn the salt. It’s not pleasant having burnt salt sticking to my body.”

The wonder in Salim’s stance is gone. It’s as if he just said, ‘Salt water badly irritates my eyes,’ not made reference to the fact his eyes are made of fire.

He doesn’t know if this is good or bad, and so, he begins making the bed.

Perhaps, if he’d insisted on separate rooms or ones with two beds when they were travelling, that might have made Salim abandon him, but he hadn’t. When they arrived here, Ibis had shown them the rooms reserved for Ibis himself and Anubis and the one Shadow had chosen, and then, politely told them to pick where they wished to sleep.

Careful, Ibis had been, though, whether on account of Salim’s possible reaction, he’s not sure. No hint he believed they’d be sharing a bed, no indication he’d make a fuss if they did.

Salim had dragged him to the room most closely pointed to Mecca, and then, nervously asked if it would be okay for them.

The option to insist on his own room had been there, he knows, but he hadn’t felt as if it were.

…

“Beaches, the concept of them, do you know how old it is? Do you remember when was the first time you saw a beach?”

Back when he was driving that cab, there was an inkling when Salim didn’t rush out of his cab despite the crowded street they were parked in, when Salim talked of his grandmother once claiming to see what might have been an ifrit, when Salim asked, “Are there many jinn in New York?”

But he’d soon brushed it aside. Salim’s hand touching his had brought memories of the deserts he once called his home, and he could see the loneliness when Salim first got in the cab, shoes wetter than the rest of him, and politely gave his destination. Easier for a lonely foreigner to accept childhood fairy tales than the real, cruel world he was trying to navigate.

He’d wanted a hot shower and softer bed than the too-small, lumpy one in the tiny, musty apartment he’d rented, but more than that, he’d just wanted sex with a nice-smelling person who he didn’t have to so carefully hide his eyes from.

If he’d driven off with the woman who’d gotten in after Salim, if he’d simply left with his own clothes and cab after the sex, he’s fairly sure Salim wouldn’t have sought him back out.

He’d like to be completely sure.

“You give too much, ifrit,” he’d been told once, and it had offended him. Since his transformation, he’s always had little use for humans, but he’s not bloodthirsty, and he’d like to consider himself a civilised being. Those polite and/or kind, they deserve politeness and lack of cruelty back. And he’s always been one who took pride in repaying the good done to him. He will not owe anyone favours.

But he’d known what Salim wished for, or thought he had, a different life, freedom from everything keeping him from ever having even the chance at true happiness, and nothing Salim had done or given him demanded he grant this wish, but he’d decided to.

Salim showing up- apparently, Salim’s true wish is for what Salim considers love.

If he told Salim right now what he thinks of Salim’s ideas on love, maybe, he could get Salim to leave without doing the one thing that would be infinitely crueller than that.

Instead, he answers, “Beaches have always been since the world was created, however many millions or billions of years ago that was. I don’t know when the name for them came. The first time I came across one was in…”

Salim listens raptly.

When he’s done talking, before Salim can ask more questions, he starts to divest of his clothes. “Go try to find your hermit crab or enjoy the water. I’m going to lie in the sun.”

“Do you need sunscreen? I brought some.”

“No. Too much sun burns human skin, but my skin is refreshed by lava.”

Not that he’s found an accessible volcano with active lava in many, many years, but bathing in the sun for a bit will be a treat on its own.

He lays out the mat, and Salim’s eyes aren’t particularly subtle in conveying Salim’s appreciation of his movements.

Understanding human beauty has always been hit-or-miss with him. He’s never understood those who have genuine yearning at the look of his body, not due to any disdain he holds towards how his body is made, simply due to-

He’s tall and strong, both blessings he appreciates, and once, he worked to ensure the latter never abandoned him even if he were to become shrunken. He’s always thought dark skin, blacks and browns, only the very young not yet filled out or old leached of colour, is normal and still bristles at these strangely pale-skinned people subjugating humans with skin close to his. His eyes were once brown, though, just as he doesn’t have a clear memory of his human name, only a few names it likely could have been, he doesn’t have a definite memory of the shade and shape of them; he does know they weren’t the strange mixture of soft yet strong, firm yet indulgent, Salim’s are.

Whenever there’s plentiful food, many humans disdain bodies filled out by the consuming of this food, and his hips are rounded, his belly protrudes a bit, and his chest blends into his stomach rather than a distinctive narrow passage in between.

If he wanted to change his body, he’d attempt to, but not wanting to doesn’t make him ignorant to the fact it doesn’t inspire lust in many humans.

Lying down, he listens to Salim’s agreement, listens to Salim wander away, and feeling the pleasant warmth going through him, he finds his thoughts aren’t as peaceful.

No one bothers him, and he hears Salim’s open voice talking every now and then to people who respond back in friendly tones.

Then, however, he hears, “No, Islam does not condone that.”

Making sure his sunglasses are properly on, he sits up.

Salim is talking to a young woman, and a little boy is playing at their feet. The woman, she looks sceptical, but he doesn’t get the sense she’s about to start trouble.

Misguided monotheist, he finds himself echoing Grimnir’s sentiment. Next time, I’m letting you go to the beach by yourself, and when you end up getting arrested or worse, rather than being one more problem for me, it will be one less. I can’t be expected to protect you when I’m not around.

“Sadly, in my home country, that does happen, but the Quran itself-” Noticing him, Salim waves.

Returning the wave, he cautiously lies back.

“My companion over there, he’s not one for religion, any religion, but he’d tell you I speak the truth. The prophet, peace be upon him, made it very clear that…”

The conversation between Salim and the woman ends on good terms. It’s highly unlikely she’ll ever convert to Islam, he imagines one of the Hippie Jesuses will claim her when her time comes, but perhaps, she’ll no longer instinctively shield the boy whenever a bearded brown man walks near.

Eventually, the smell of food fills his nose, and Salim says, “Here, I got this for you. They didn’t have any coffee you’d like, but I think you might enjoy this masala chai.”

Sitting up, he takes the offered food, and he finds himself studying it. A pork hot dog with plenty of chilli and cheese, easy on the onions, no mustard. “This is not halal.”

“- Do you care,” is Salim’s reply, and the combination of exasperation mixed with uncertainty on Salim’s face, as if Salim might smack him upside the head, he’ll readily admit he deserves it.

“No, but you buying it-” He lets the sentence hang.

Relaxing, Salim starts preparing his own meal, a hamburger that’s presumably halal or, at least, not actively haram. “I don’t expect you to eat as I do, just as you don’t expect me to eat as you do. Oh, but I did get the French fries for both of us.”

Catching Salim’s eyes as best he can, he says, “Thank you, Salim.”

A beautiful smile is his reward, and what a sorry state he’s found himself in, taking such pleasure in a human smiling at him.

After eating and Salim’s prayers, he realises- “Did you put on sunscreen yourself?”

Salim’s face gives the answer before Salim sheepishly responds, “No, I meant to, but-”

“I’ll help you. Hopefully, the sun hasn’t already begun burning your skin.”

…

When they go back to the funeral home, Ibis has made another grand meal.

“You shouldn’t go through all this trouble,” Salim quietly says.

“Nonsense. I’ve enjoyed having people to cook for. Like Mr Wednesday, Mr Jacquel’s tastes are rather simple.”

He sometimes wonders about those two, but since Ibis hasn’t made any acknowledgement of Salim and he obviously sharing the room containing only one bed, it’s best to keep this curiosity to himself.

“Do you mind if I ask where and when you learned to cook,” Salim asks.

“Not at all,” is the cheerful response.

“Will any of the others be joining us,” he asks.

“Doubtful. Misters Wednesday and Nancy are off-together, and so are Mad Sweeney and Mrs Moon.”

“Allah bring him back alive,” Salim mutters.

“It’d be no great loss if your zombie killed that annoying leprechaun. What of Bilquis?”

“She never shares meals with us,” Ibis answers.

“She’s not mine. Laura, I mean. And as unpleasant a creature as Mad Sweeney can be, I think she might need him more than she realises.”

To him, this is all the more reason for her to do the world a favour in killing that unpleasant creature, for she’s certainly proven to be unpleasant herself, but since she is not any true enemy of his, him having an opinion on Salim’s fondness for her is something he’d rather not have.

“Neither is Bilquis,” Ibis wryly says. “Many of us, gods and goddesses and beings of myth, are safe enough to touch, my friend, but a piece of advice: She is most definitely **not** one of them. I would offer my hospitality even without him being a factor, yet, many others accept your presence solely due to our ifrit companion here issuing a claim that you are his travel companion.”

“Bilquis wouldn’t attack you in the conventional sense, but if she is to ever make advances upon you, I strongly advise you to politely refuse her offers. Fear what she would do rather than any reaction this one might have.”

“I’m homosexual,” Salim says.

He’s not sure if he’s surprised or not by Salim making such a blunt announcement.

Ibis laughs. “Well, that makes you much safer. When it comes to her, I mean. Unfortunately, that which would grant you safety and, perhaps, even genuine fondness from one such as she condemns you to a life of danger among your fellow humans. Perhaps, someday, certain much older attitudes will retake genuine root in human societies.”

Acid truths are on his tongue. Long ago, no one cared who carnally knew who. Of course, there was jealousy, there were instances of familial disapproval of romantic relationships, rape likely was even worse then than it is now, but two men coming together, rare for that to translate into a death sentence. For them to be flogged, for family and strangers alike to shun them, for them to always hold a bit of unshakeable shame within themselves, planted when they were too young to realise it was happening, too weak with the innocence of age to know how to fight against it if they did realise.

No, that came with the prophet Salim wishes peace upon and others like him. Men were fine enough with the animistic way, and then, gods and goddesses who wanted people to eat, sleep, and screw certain ways came or were created, whichever is the case, and in some ways, back then, at least, Islam did some good for many women, but men like Salim will be forever condemned as long as such gods hold power. Hippie Jesuses, rabbis who marry same-sex couples, and earnest scholars who fervently tout out often overlooked Islamic texts urging change, reform, kindness, acceptance, none of that will topple the power the old gods have.

He could say all this, but the food is good, and Salim is happily listening to Ibis’ talk about cooking.

…

After supper, he lets Salim shower first, and after he’s done with his own shower, he gets into the comfortable bed with the knowledge he’ll likely soon be making do with another adequate but utterly lacking in any sort of luxury motel bed.

Rolling to wrap around him, Salim kisses his chest.

It’s a chaste gesture. Salim is wearing a t-shirt, and they’re both a little too full from the dinner Ibis prepared for their bodies to want indulgence in other such ways.

Even in the dead of winter, he prefers to pile under blankets with the heater blaring than wear anything more than some underwear, but it’s not a cold night. If he were to hurt Salim now, he could get dressed, leave, and figure something out. Aside from losing the comfortable bed-

“Thank you for today,” Salim says. “It was nice.”

“I could die,” comes out. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but what I must do for Wednesday is something nothing, no god, can get me out of. And I might die. You say you’re still coming, and alright. You’re still coming. If I don’t die, what then?”

“I don’t know,” Salim answers. “I’m a worse than a shit salesman seeing as how I can’t even sell shit.”

He should have taken it as the warning that it was when Salim made him laugh in the cab: This one will make you laugh in bed, and if he can do that-

“But if, Allah the most great grant it, you survive, if you can be free, then, we can make a life together. Go wherever we want. I won’t expect you to take care of me. With the internet, there’s even more possibilities. I’m not much for creative writing, but I’ve always been good at taking notes. Perhaps, I can document or review things. Places. I’ve always wanted a camera. I don’t know if I’d be any good at photography, but I can get a camera, and we can see.”

“Or maybe,” Salim nuzzles closer against him, “I’ll find a more conventional, steady job. You can find something besides driving a cab.”

Okay, he says in his head, but why do you think I want to build a life with you? We had sex once.

(He’s aware they’ve had it many times since being reunited, but Salim tracked him down with all these plans in his head after they’d only- okay, fine, it was more than once that first night, but he’d really appreciate it if his thoughts would stop attacking themselves with pedantry.)

It was one night of sex. No words of love were exchanged.

“You need me,” Salim quietly says. “And you want me, too. If you didn’t want me, I would go on my own, believing in you from afar, but you do.”

It’s a terrible thing to wish, but he wishes he could label Salim a liar. He wishes he didn’t believe the painful sincerity of the words.

“And you? Right now, you want me, but you don’t need me, and- even without this war, the life I have always lived, it’s not one most humans want.”

He was never married. If he sired children, he didn’t do his duty towards them; he hopes he didn’t, that his declaration he’s not a father has always been true on every level. He had skills, and there were places those skills were welcome, place _he_ was welcomed, and maybe, if he’d stayed in one of those places- but no. He was forever walking the deserts.

Now, he’s not sure why he was like that, but there’s a good possibility, if he gets his freedom, if the war doesn’t end up destroying this planet or even just humanity, that, soon enough, he’d get tired of going home to the same bed, no matter how comfortable, seeing largely the same people, having roughly the same choices of foods even if they’re tasty and plentiful.

As much as he hated driving that cab, wished for more luxury, the fact he hadn’t explored all of New York even in ten years was something that helped thread his sanity in place.

There’s a heavy silence.

Then, Salim says, “I know you’re who I’m meant to be with. Not duty. We were made for one another, to give each other what we need, to make sure both have some true pleasure in this harsh world. I know it might not be forever. When I die, tomorrow or eighty, ninety, even possibly, a hundred years from now, you’ll still be young. You’ll still look fairly young and have this strong body and, by the standards of some of the old gods, be young.”

“It’s not just sex, but when we know each other in such a way, you see the deserts you once called home, and I see them, too, but besides that, I feel as if I’m exactly who I’m supposed to be. I feel Allah’s love, that he would make you for me, that he would make me for you. I never felt safe before you. Not when it came to that.”

“And there’s times like right now, when I’m lying in bed with you, times like earlier today when we were at the beach. I want to know about you beyond sex and you being an ifrit. I love falling asleep with you beside me and waking up with you there. The rest doesn’t matter.”

But it does, you idiot, he thinks, and his pedantic brain is quick to remind him of all the ways _idiot_ applies to him more than it does Salim.

Stronger than this is, _Allah didn’t make us for one another, that isn’t what brought us together_ , but he’s not ready to hurt Salim.

“What if you get to know me and your feelings shift from this infatuation to something more lukewarm?”

“It’s a possibility, I suppose,” Salim sleepily acknowledges. “But how would any truly happy couple come to be if no one took a chance with someone they chose for themself on the reasoning this person might end up being wrong for them?”

Urging Salim’s face up, he kisses him properly. “Goodnight, Salim.”

Settling back on his chest, Salim answers, “Goodnight.”

 _My love_ , is heavy in the air.

It really would probably be better to hurt Salim before they’re said.

He closes his eyes.

…

In the morning, he says, “Tell me more about you wanting a camera.”

“I was jealous of a cousin,” Salim says. “That’s what it was, at first. But then, when I grew, I started to really wish I could take pictures of certain things and people.”

“Then, buy a camera today. I need to see Wednesday privately, but once I’m done, you can show me the pictures you’ve taken, or we can find things for you to take pictures of together.”

“Is that safe?”

Not bothering to pretend he doesn’t know what Salim means, he assures him, “Grimnir and I will just be talking. Nothing bad will happen.”

 _Liar_ goes through him, and he only just manages not to shudder.

“Okay,” Salim uncertainly agrees. “But I know nothing about cameras.”

“Ibis,” he calls, “could I prevail upon you to let Salim borrow your computer?”

Appearing, Biliqus hands Salim a smartphone. “Here, my brother. Ifrit, Thoth and Anubis are picking up a body.”

Salim looks at him.

“That phone-” He starts.

“I have the safety filters in place, and this one doesn’t have my Sheba account on it.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Salim, thank her, and look up what you want to know about cameras.”

“Thank you.”

Smiling, she touches Salim’s cheek before practically gliding away.

He’s very lucky he never met her when he was mortal, he knows.

Or maybe not. If he had, if he’d been consumed by her, he wouldn’t be in this mess now.

…

Sitting on a bench, Wednesday plays with a rose. “Hello, my ifrit friend.”

Reminding himself anger is a tool Wednesday can easily use against those holding it, he urges himself to be calm. “Was Salim your doing?”

What others would label as genuine bewilderment crosses Wednesday’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”

He takes a deep breath, and he immediately regrets it. Knowing someone is trying to control their anger makes it known that it’s there.

“You entrap me,” seeing Wednesday is about to argue, he barrels on, “or you simply find the amulet I was entrapped within, whichever isn’t important at the moment, and you place me in New York. For almost eleven years, I’m stuck there.”

“And then, one rainy night, this mortal named Salim gets into my cab. There’s nothing particularly special about him, but I’m exhausted and angry with my lot in life, and he’s a kind man saddened by and at loss with his own life. That man who wouldn’t see Salim, was he truly a human businessman? Salim’s told me about the secretary of this man, and for some reason, what he’s said has always niggled in my brain.”

“Then, you give me a motorcycle with a side-car. I thought it was for me to transport things; perhaps, you or one of your allies at some point. Come the day of the diner massacre, there’s suddenly an extra helmet.”

“I didn’t think much of any of this back then. Now, I find myself thinking: It’d be easy enough for you to have him and I in the exact place needed for me to be the one who stops for him. Did you?”

“Well, now, first of all,” the rose is handed to him, and resisting the urge to toss it away, he simply sets it down beside him, “one thing Christianity has always had right is the concept of free will. Gods and goddesses have exerted their will over humans and others, certainly, but it’s usually been a small number, and it’s important to remember, what gave them power was enough humans believing they could and even should.”

“You could have kept driving when you saw him attempting to wave a taxi down. He could have left that office at any time instead of waiting until it was dark and raining and they kicked him out.”

“Yes, I know all this. Now, would you please answer my question? Did you play a part in the circumstances leading to us meeting?”

Giving a small shrug, Wednesday smiles at him. “You aren’t going to like hearing this, but: I owed a favour.”

“You owe many favours.”

Wednesday is content to let him sit in his irritated confusion.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it,” Wednesday says. “I’ve been told the sun is the brightest in this direction.”

Of course, it is, is his absent thought, we’re facing towards-

Coldness almost darkens his vision.

“Who did you owe this favour to, and what was this favour?”

Wednesday’s look is almost pitying.

“He truly is a vengeful god!”

Part of him is urging caution, he knows how much a trickster Grimnir can be, causing people to believe things without ever speaking an untruth, but- he knows.

“Now, wait,” Wednesday says. “Before you do something you might regret, let me speak for my friend.”

“He is an usurper who would have all trace of you and all of your names either completely erased or universally demeaned.”

“He’s earned his place at the table of the old ones. A place you’ll never have.”

“Believe these words, Wednesday, Grimnir, Wotan, Odin, I don’t want such a place. I never have. Despite what some think, I didn’t fancy myself above the gods or equal to them. I simply refused to bow down, to let them dictate my life, to agree they had the right to dictate the lives of other humans. They had the might, but as has been said, might does not necessarily make right. Stupid humans, they made those gods, and then, they believed the lie that the gods made them.”

“Hmm.” Wednesday smiles again. “Hear me, ifrit. My friend who, yes, in some ways is my enemy, but why let that get in the way of friendship, had a fondness for a follower of his.”

“Now, don’t get me wrong, my friend is extremely displeased with buildings being flown into and idiots strapping bombs to themselves, but there is an argument to be made that those struggling to live in a world they find greatly at odds with them are involved in a holy struggle. Suicide is forgivable. It has to be, as shown by how even before mental illness was labelled and largely deemed not a character flaw, humans bristled at the churches and temples disrespecting the corpses of those who had died that way. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt more than just those who do it, including the gods themselves.”

Great, is his gloomy thought. I know how to hurt Salim, but I have to somehow make sure-

He directs numerous curses towards Allah.

“Everything is a sign of mental illness nowadays,” Wednesday continues, “but Salim wasn’t. Not the way Mrs Moon was, at least. A person, however, can simply only take so much pain and loneliness until they have to do something to end the struggle. When you fight, you either win, or you surrender. I don’t believe in losing. I never have.”

“If you surrender, you lose.”

“A belief many have. Yet, not one my friend and I hold to. You know, many of those turned to ifrits and jinn were due to a refusal to bow down to humans.”

“Those were angels, and I hold some kinship with them. Humans shouldn’t be bowed to, not even by other humans.”

“Bowing only translates to worship if everyone or most, at least, agree it does. Take you and Salim.”

“I’ve never bowed to or worshipped him, and- he worships and bows to Allah. He believes in me, and he-” How to best word it, he wonders.

“Loves you, is the end of that sentence. Or more accurately, for you, the end of that sentence is, ‘loves me’.”

“He thinks he does. What can a lonely man full of pain who’s never experienced true love, and by that, I mean any sort of genuine love outside of family, know about love?”

“If he’s any indication, a lot. Besides, get into semantics all you want, we both know there are different ways of bowing.”

“Kneeling, you mean. Never done that, either. Not with him, not since I became what I am. And no one has entered my body since, either.”

It’s stupid to say this, he knows, but the risk of being labelled a liar isn’t among the reasons it’s unwise. He doesn’t know when and where he picked up the insulting human notion that being penetrated is a sign of weakness, that one who performs fellatio or cunnilingus is degrading themselves, but- well, in some ways, it seems he has.

He didn’t have those notions when he was a human, he knows. He remembers opening his body to others he liked, and he remembers giving pleasure with his tongue.

This is just another way things could’ve been different.

He’s known mortals who truly wanted nothing more out of an encounter than to give a blowjob and leave, and he doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t hold judgement towards them. Salim, though, Salim wanted to kiss him.

Instead, Salim got down on his knees, not worshipping him, but showing submission. If all he was allowed to express his sexual nature was performing a certain act, he’d take it. In certain cases, some is better than nothing.

If he’d allowed the blowjob, and then, left-

Wednesday laughs. “Oh, I’d say I believe you, but then, I don’t. To be clear, no, I haven’t spied on you and your human in bed, ifrit, but I know better. Never mind fertility and temple rituals, people in love worshipping their beloved with their bodies has been around since before, ‘With this ring, I thee wed, with my body, I thee worship,’ was uttered aloud.”

“You kiss him deeply not just because you like the taste of him but, because, the taste of you, the feeling of your tongue in his mouth, his tongue in yours pleases him. You kiss him softly, partly as a reminder of those deeper kisses. And you use your fingers and penis to give him pleasure. I have seen some of your past encounters.”

Why bother even giving a response to this? Long ago, he didn’t even particularly care if someone did see, but now- the feeling of irritated violation at the spymaster who would put this newest Christian god to shame is best to be put aside.

“No one could charge you with selfishness. I’d wager, however, unlike with them, you pay close attention to every moan and gasp and clutching of his fingers. You try to keep your eyes open in order to read his face or the muscles in his back. You use that strong, immortal body of yours to hold and stroke him and thrust just right, shifting to a different angle when necessary, kiss that one sensitive place or those places on his body, perhaps, bite into the skin, and you do this over and over again until even Allah’s name is difficult for him to grasp within his mind.”

“And afterwards, you hold him. Let him wrap himself around you. Vulnerable, naked human, sore, overwhelmed, that’s him.”

“You, on the other hand, you might be tired, exhausted even, but the same feeling those who genuflect in churches, leave scraps of foods out for the fair folk, prick their finger to spill blood on an altar, the ones who do so out of genuine love and happiness to serve, that’s you. You’ve made him happy, given the best of yourself, earned the soft smile he gives you.”

A certain four-letter word and several curses much stronger than it long to be free.

Making a small sound, Wednesday inquires, “Are you going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“Whether the favour was in regards to you or Salim or both?”

“What does that matter? You and he both-”

Tiredness is better than anger at the moment, he tells himself.

“Losing is losing. You surrender, you lose. Someone defeats you, maybe, someday, you can defeat them, but there’s no bullshit about how you’re not a loser until you stop getting up. Part of you will always be a loser, because, you lost. Doesn’t matter if you eventually win some greater victory. I’m pretty sure the first version of you did understand this.”

“I know I’ll lose. I have lost, and I know I might lose absolutely everything. I might end up surrendering. But when my ultimate defeat happens, I truly hope the only way my hatred is dispelled is when every part of me is destroyed.”

Starting to get up, he’s uneased by Wednesday grabbing his arm.

“My friend loves Salim.”

“Good for him. He can choose when and how Salim dies. I’ve never used sex as a weapon, and I won’t start now. But unless you stop me, I will place myself above Salim. If Allah didn’t want his already suffering follower hurt even more, then, one of you shouldn’t have gotten this idea.”

Letting go, Wednesday comments, “Yes, what a horrible thing we’ve done, guiding two lost, lonely souls to someone who can give them a shred of happiness in this cruel world.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “I was happy as a human. I could have been happy as an ifrit, a jinn, until someone entrapped me in an amulet. In Salim’s case, sending him to America instead of doing something about the things that made him miserable over there- I don’t know why I continually expect simplicity from the gods. It will never happen.”

“You like chess.”

“I like playing a board game, yes, and I’ve won a few things by besting someone at the game. But I don’t do this. I don’t come up with all these complicated plans and use humans and ifrits and so on as pawns!”

“Never, huh?”

Feeling his anger slightly deflate, he leans back. “Not like this. Happiness for happiness. Kindness, perhaps, for kindness. I wanted to help some people, and so, I intervened in their lives. I didn’t do it for a war or to get worship. You might not have any desire to punish me, though, I don’t rule out that you might, but he does. He always has. And if a devoted follower gets hurt in the process, so be it.”

“Tell me, which do you think is more powerful? America or some Middle-Eastern country?”

“I don’t think it matters. In some cases, America is undeniably more powerful. In others, it’s harder to make a determination. They have oil there, once worse than worthless, that’s now more valuable than gold, which was also once fairly worthless, but America’s military grows vaster and stronger every year. Him stepping in to stop his followers from high-jacking several planes and having people running around in suicide vests might have kept jingoism here more at bay for a while.”

“It helped you get a cab.”

He can only look at Wednesday.

“No, I had nothing to do with poor Ibrahim’s fate. That was a terrible thing to happen to an innocent man. I’m simply pointing out, you did get a cab out of it.”

“If I’d wanted a cab in the first place, I could have gotten one without a man being beaten to death.”

“It was kind of you to sit with him.”

“Cell phones weren’t common back then. I didn’t have one.” Carrying Ibrahim, he could have, but he’d feared lifting the human would cause instant death. He’d considered going to find help, but Ibrahim had begged him to stay.

No one came near the alley until long after Ibrahim had passed.

“Humans have made things complicated for gods. You’d respond, I’m sure, humans have largely made things complicated for themselves.”

“No, I’d respond I don’t believe that many deities are lacking in free will. You and the others could have been without worship. You didn’t have to foster relationships with humans.”

“You’re lucky you have power over me, Grimnir. I don’t have much use for these new gods, but I don’t hate them the way I do you and the old ones. Especially him. I might have ended up joining them simply, because, if they had a good enough chance of getting rid of all of you-” He stops.

Wednesday studies him. “You must be truly angry to speak so freely, ifrit.”

No, I’m hurt, he realises. There’s some anger, but mostly, everything is raw and sore with hurt inside.

He has a feeling Wednesday knows.

“I’m going to see if Salim is back from buying a camera.”

“Oh, do you mind if I ask him to take a picture of me and Shadow?”

“Why would I care?”

…

By the time Salim is back, he has his emotions back under control.

“The stores lady was very nice. She, uh, tried to set me up on a date with her daughter, and then, when I told her I was- when I made it clear I wouldn’t be a good match for her daughter, she wanted to set me up with a nephew.”

He laughs. “Get used to it. A nice boy like you, not wearing a wedding ring, people think of the bad choices their children and nieces and nephews make in partners, and they think, ‘I have to try.’”

“I’m a man,” is the mildly miffed reply.

“She had a daughter old enough to go on dates. There’s a chance _I_ might be a boy in her eyes.”

Giving an appeased nod, Salim proceeds to show him the camera and some of the pictures he’s already taken.

…

When they go to bed, it’s easy to tell Salim wants him, wants sex.

There’s a thought in his head, sometimes, to win, you first have to lose, and he curses Wednesday for being in his head at such a time.

“After we were first together, were you with anyone else?”

Surprise etches into Salim’s face. “No, no one. It’s not because of this, but I was too busy trying to find you. My only real options would have been Laura and Mad Sweeney. Beyond her being a woman, she’s dead, and Mad Sweeney-” The disgusted expression makes him laugh. “If I ever found myself wanting such an unpleasant creature, it might be a kindness to throw me off a roof.”

Less funny, but he can’t exactly disagree with the sentiment.

“What about you,” Salim quietly asks.

“It doesn’t matter.”

If it matters to Salim, this is Salim’s problem. He made no promises during or after their night together. He didn’t expect to even ever see Salim again.

Seeing Salim accept this, he rolls them so that he’s on top of Salim, and kissing him, he says, “I want to try something different tonight.”

“Yes,” Salim says. “Anything you want.”

The chance to hurt Salim is ripe.

Pushing these thoughts aside, he slips his hand past Salim’s underwear, and he feels how ready Salim is.

Moving down, he removes the underwear, and parting Salim’s legs, he puts his mouth where his fingers were.

There’s a chance someone in the house heard the noise Salim made, the sheets might end up torn with the way Salim is clutching and twisting at them, and incomprehensible words sputter out of Salim’s mouth until, “Wait, just for a minute, please,” can be made out.

He doesn’t want to stop.

Pulling back, he pets Salim’s leg.

“You’ve never-” Looking close to tears, Salim takes a deep breath. “You’ve never done that before.”

“With you. I’d like to now. May I continue?”

A slightly panicked laugh comes out, and reaching up, he strokes Salim’s chest.

“Are you-”

Thankfully, Salim realises the absurdity of the question before it’s out, which is good, because, he doesn’t think he could stop himself from being mocking if it were asked aloud.

Taking another deep breath, Salim’s heart slows a bit. “Yes.”

Bringing Salim’s hands to his head, once he feels the fingers gently wrapping into his curls, he returns his mouth to between Salim’s parted legs.

Whenever Salim is close to coming, he pulls away.

“That was- you are-” Salim looks at him with eyes full of gratitude and wonder.

Coming back up, he says, “That’s not all I want.” Getting the lube out of the nightstand, he brings two of Salim’s fingers to his own mouth. As much as he truly appreciates the abundance of lubricant that’s much more effective and comfortable than what people used to have to resort to and at such cheap prices, he still believes spit should play a part in things.

“Next, I’m going to feel you inside of me.”

Salim closes his eyes for a long minute.

When he opens them, he says, “I’ve never- with anyone.”

“Then, I’ll be the first.”

And possibly the last, pops into his head, and no.

He is not dealing with these thoughts right now.

“What if- I don’t want to- it might be disappointing.”

“Salim.” He looks into his eyes. “You cannot disappoint me. To be clear, I’m not going to be disappointed. Not in you. If it’s not a good experience, then, we’ll either figure out how to make it better in the future, or we won’t repeat it. If you’re willing, I want to experience this with you.”

“Okay.”

Salim is gentle and careful, thorough, in preparing him, whispering terms of endearments and placing kisses all over his body. When he enters, he’s a little too fast, his strokes are jerky, but soon enough, he establishes a pleasant rhythm.

“I’m going to- you haven’t-” Salim trembles above him.

Stroking Salim’s arms, he orders, “Come, Salim. Let me feel you.”

Salim does, and pulling Salim beside him for a kiss, he guides one of Salim’s hands down with his own, and with Salim surrounding and kissing him, he finds himself in a memory of the deserts.

Once his own heart is slowing back down, he finds, yes, naked, vulnerable, sore, that’s him. Salim is nuzzling open-mouthed kisses against his chest, and moving Salim’s head until Salim looks into his eyes, he asks, “Was it good for you?”

Salim’s gentle nod and soft, thankful kiss shouldn’t make him feel so fragile, not with his fire-filled eyes and solid, warmed body.

Lying back down against him, Salim says, “I love you.”

Now, a part of him urges. Do it now.

He doesn’t know if he ever can, is the thing. Never did understand those stories of gods and goddesses falling, truly falling, for some mortal. He wasn’t even sure he believed them. In any case, though, if a god was stupid enough to give so much power over themselves to a human, they deserved whatever ill-fortune inevitably befell them.

Rolling onto his side, he strokes Salim’s cheek. “I don’t know if I can love like that. If I can ever match your feelings.”

Salim’s eyes are sad, but his nod is understanding.

“If you promise me, however, to never willingly let another touch you in such a way while we’re together, to never willingly touch another in the way you touch me, then, I’ll promise the same. Only you will I willingly allow to touch me, and only you will I willingly touch.”

A thought hits him, and he says, “To make it clear, though, I’m not talking about masturbation. I will occasionally masturbate when I’m by myself, and I don’t care whether you do or not. But you don’t kiss anyone like this,” he kisses Salim, “or give them pleasure, accept the kind of pleasure, I’ve given you these last months, and you have my promise that my body will be yours in a way that no other human or creature can lay a truthful claim to possessing.”

“Yes.” Pressing closer to him, Salim repeats, “Yes,” adding, “I promise. I’ll be faithful to you. No one will touch me but you. I wouldn’t want them to, but if I were tempted, I wouldn’t indulge the temptation.”

“Then, I promise the same.”

It occurs to him they should have gotten fresh sheets from the linen closet before they went to bed.

Salim, however, seems unbothered by the mess, warm happiness radiating through him, and so-

There’s a soft knock at the door, and Salim starts.

“Stay.” Getting his underwear, he slips them on, and going over to the door, he’s careful to open it so that his body blocks the view inside.

Holding folded sheets in her hands, Bilquis smiles, and in a language Salim doesn’t know, she comments, “All of us felt the worship he gave you, ifrit. Monogamy, however. Interesting choice.”

He takes the sheets. “Thank you, sister.”

“He deserves a better one than you to worship,” is her not unkind response. “Mine go out in glory. Him, you’ll likely break his heart.”

“Yes, I know.”

Giving an elegant shrug, she inclines her head. “It’s not for me to judge. We must get what we can, give what we can, and struggle to stay true to ourselves in this ever changing world while we do so. As-salamu alaykum.”

“Wa alaykumu s-salam,” he says.

She walks away, and he closes the door.

When he comes over with sheets, Salim studies them with utter bewilderment. “How did-”

“It’s best not to ask that. Go take a shower, and I’ll change the sheets.”

“Or- we could take a shower together?”

“I like that idea. But let’s change the sheets first.”

Smiling brightly, Salim agrees.

…

He returns from grocery shopping, and the sight of Salim sitting on the stairs causes his heart to spasm. “Salim?”

He’d barely set the groceries down before Salim is wrapped around, clinging, to him.

“Salim-” His hand shakes a bit before he can get it to make contact with the back of Salim’s head. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Sweeney is dead.”

Appearing, Ibis says, “I’ve made some tea. Come and try to get him to drink some, and we’ll explain what happened.”

Making sure Salim isn’t physically hurt, he leads him to the table Ibis has set up.

It comes out, and he feels sympathy for Shadow. It was both an accident and self-defense. Sweeney attacked Wednesday, Shadow managed to get the spear away from him, and then, they both moved the wrong way at the wrong time.

“Do leprechauns have funerals,” Salim inquires.

“He will,” Ibis answers. “I will tend to his body, and Mr Jacquel will arrange burial for him. I don’t think cremation would be best.”

The phone rings.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

“We need to leave,” he tells Salim. “Pack everything important-”

“Could we stay for the funeral? I’d like to. Mad Sweeney was- we were the closest things to friends he had. And I know you don’t like Laura, but she’s been genuinely kind to me. When she comes back- if, I should say, but if she comes back soon, I might be able to help her.”

 _Salim_ was the closest person out of all of them to a friend Sweeney had. And he’s worried about what the zombie might do if she gets back before they’re gone. Likely, she’ll try to kill Wednesday, and he’d rather not end up in Shadow’s position.

If he told Salim no, they’re leaving now, Salim would almost surely listen. If he gave Salim a choice, said I’m going now, you can come with me or stay, Salim would likely chose to leave with him.

He used to fear becoming the type of jinn found in Disney movies, either slavish devotion hidden by wisecracking or a one-dimensional villain, and he thinks he should be happier to discover he’s under no obligation or expectation to trail after Salim. It’s Salim who follows him, Salim who listens to his instructions.

Except, he’s discovered, it turns out, when a human you like starts following you, you end up going to the beach so that he can try to find a hermit crab and trying to make the sex between the two of you more equal and staying for the funeral of a creature you couldn’t care less about.

He doesn’t care that he’s responsible for most of this himself, at the moment, he’s content to curse the gods.

They wouldn’t have put Salim in his path if they didn’t have a good idea he would make all these stupid choices.

“Fine, we can stay for the funeral, but I need to leave soon after. I’m going to start packing some of the important stuff now.”

“Thank you.” Salim hugs him tightly. “I’ll help you.”

…

Salim’s picture is on the TV along with those of Wednesday and Shadow, and the FBI are surrounding the funeral home.

Understandably, Salim is panicking, but if Salim would just stay still, he would be fine. Ibis has granted hospitality to Salim specifically, and thus, the FBI will never find Salim here.

Unless Ibis falls, too, but that won’t happen today.

“Salim, talk to me,” he pleads.

He has to get Salim to stop moving, to focus on him, and he can explain. But first, if Salim has suddenly realised that following the jinn who gave him one night of pleasure was a bad idea and he regrets it and that, actually, finding a nice human to grant his fidelity to is sounding really good right now, all this should be said now.

Foxholes don’t inspire belief when there is none, but foxholes are something that tends to bring out the true nature of those inside them.

There’s defeat in Salim’s stance, but then, he watches in fascination as it’s replaced.

Coming over to him, Salim declares, “I don't know what we are going to be. But I want you to know I don't regret any of it. You have taught me how to love.”

It’s extremely rare for humans to have such moments, and he’s not sure about gods, but until now, he’s never had a moment such as this. He’s almost watching himself from outside of his body, and everything in the universe is telling him: This is an extremely big, a huge, moment in your life. What you do next will forever change your life.

The closest he’s ever had to something like this was when he was told, ‘Convert or be punished.’ He didn’t know what the punishment would be, but he knew he’d be killed, tortured, and/or forever imprisoned.

He’d thought about how to stay alive, unhurt, and free, but when he considered falsely claiming conversion, he knew he was going to die, be tortured, or at least, imprisoned.

Now, he could say, ‘Then, renounce Allah. Denounce him.’

And Salim wouldn’t. Salim might hate him.

For all he’s criticised Salim’s devotion, needled him over it, he’s never gone so far, and if he does, right now, in this terrifying situation for Salim, then, Salim will no longer be his to protect. Salim will no longer be something that Salim’s god or Wednesday can use against him, to control him.

Instead, he kisses Salim with all the tenderness and passion Salim makes him feel inside.

And some part of him is cursing himself as he does it, but what, he asks that part, do you expect?

No, he likely wouldn’t have ever sought Salim out, but it’s not as if Salim was the only one pining. It’s not as if he didn’t dream of star-filled brown eyes, Salim’s warm body, what it would be like to make Salim laugh and laugh again, memories of Salim’s chuckle in his cab fresh in his mind. Not as if he found himself desperately wanting sex but kept ending up settling for his own hand, because, lack of promises was true, but so was the fact every person within the right age group that he looked at, the ones not clearly with someone else, simply weren’t what he wanted.

…

Everything settles. The FBI is dealt with, Shadow Moon has vanished, as has Mad Sweeney’s body, and after writing a note for Ibis to please give to Laura if she ever returns, Salim packs the rest of their suitcases for them.

He’s always liked Ibis. Thoth.

Long ago, he came across the god, and instead of irritating him, Ibis interested him with his stories. They played Shatranj.

Now, he gets the feeling Ibis might think- he’s not sure. Ibis has asked if he can go against Wednesday’s express wishes. Ibis has asked if Salim knows certain things.

The answer is no, and if he tried, he’d either be destroyed permanently or re-imprisoned in that damned amulet.

It occurs to him, perhaps, Ibis has decided, friendship aside, he’s causing trouble Ibis believes would be stopped or significantly halted if one of these two things were to happen.

Or perhaps, Ibis simply believes Salim deserves better, in which case, though he’ll agree, Ibis has never had the misfortune of falling for a human. He doubts Ibis has even experienced unrequited love, something many of the gods have had to deal with.

He was happy being judgemental over the gods when it came to such matters, confident he’d never have to reassess these judgements, but now- well, he’s always strived not to be a hypocrite.

And so, he wishes Ibis peace.

“Til death do you part,” Ibis teasingly responds.

Going over to Salim, he makes sure Salim’s helmet is on properly. “Ready?”

Squeezing his hand, Salim answers, “Yes.”

...

Epilogue

Pouring a glass of mineral water, Ibis hands it to his guest. “Welcome, my old friend. It might have gone better if you’d come to see Salim and our ifrit before they left.”

His guest gives him a look. “It went well enough. The ifrit can always recognise me. He had his moment to make a strike, but he chose wisely. He wouldn’t have if-” Taking a drink, the visitor shrugs.

“I’m not so sure.”

“You’ve never been sure about anything important. Except, once, when you proposed true co-existence. Mass exposure with the explanation that, if humans got rid of us, there’d be no more afterlife for them. Reasonable beings, you called them even though many laughed.”

“You didn’t,” Ibis says.

“I allow a certain verse to stand, because, it was written by human hands. Otherwise, it never would have been. If we’re reasonable, so are most of them. If we’re unreasonable, there’s a high enough chance their path may differ from ours.”

A warm smile crosses Ibis’ face. “He gets that from you.”

“What?”

Not answering, Ibis asks, “And have your feelings on the proposal changed since then?”

“Have yours?”

“I’ll answer another time.”

“Then, so will I. For now, I’ve come to see Mr Wednesday. I’m glad he kept your involvement regarding the two coming together unsaid.”

“There’ll be a price to pay for that.”

“There’s always a price with him,” is the somewhat contemptuous reply. “Again, though, I thank you. I know you didn’t agree with much of what I did, but I hope you’re beginning to see I was correct.”

“I won’t deny he’s happy. And Salim is a good choice. But yes, I still would have preferred you simply let him die and have his soul and Salim’s meet as humans.”

“The only choice,” his guest corrects. “My boy will have nothing but the best. He doesn’t need to understand. Suffering is unavoidable, even for those such as us, but I will see their reward more than eclipses what they’ve both gone through.”

Finishing the drink, the guest adds with a touch of pride, “He made a good choice in choosing my son.”

“That, I’ve always agreed with.” Ibis finishes his own drink. “But were you ever worried he wouldn’t?”

“It’s my duty to worry. Even about the things that I know will happen or not happen. If I didn’t worry, I couldn’t love.”

“A good lesson for all to learn and keep. Peace and blessings, my friend.”

“And you as well,” his guest replies before exiting the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: The Jinn's thought on Christianity being a newer religion was intentional. He didn't know anything about Christianity when he was first introduced to Islam, and he was around as an ifrit/jinn for some time before he ever came across anything related to Christianity. Basically, he views it as a middle-aged religion.


End file.
